Bulletproof
by Gixxer Pilot
Summary: Star Trek Zombie!verse AU. (Yes, you read that right!) What is ethical isn't always right. What is right isn't always ethical. For Chris Pike, the key is finding that perfect balance between the two...and then living with the consequences of his actions.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes**: Yes, I am alive. I do apologize for the radio silence of late; real life tends to kick me squarely in the head this time of year. (Stupid, stupid gubbmint - taxes are the devil!) But I am back, and back with a shiny new zombie!verse AU. As you know (well, you'd know if you've read my fics before) I can't write oneshots nor can I contain my muses once they get on a roll. Let me tell you - they've been rolling since last winter. This particular story is a teensy, tiny, itty bitty tip of the zombie!verse AU iceberg, which, incidentally is much bigger than the one that sank the Titanic.

This particular story is tilted a bit towards the darker side, but done so purposely as it kicks off the 'verse and paints the world. It's, as I call it, 'patient zero'. The rest of the stories, I promise you, will not be this sad. In fact, if all goes well every major character (and just about all the minor ones, too) are slated to be written in at some point. Like my cop!verse, Pike, McCoy and Jim play large roles. Also along for the ride are Spock, Sulu, Chekov, Uhura, Scotty, Olsen, Cupcake, Gaila, Sarek, Winona, Boyce, a couple crossover-inspired additions and a crap-ton of redshirts, the latter group now cowering in their boots. Sucks to be them, I guess. Anyway, comments are loved but not required. I only hope you enjoy it!

**Warnings**: Blood, gore BAMFery and minor character death. It's a zombie!verse, folks. People die.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Star Trek, nor do I own a zombie. Boo. I could probably make money off both, but since I own neither, no money is being made here.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Chris Pike wondered what kind of ungodly miracle it was going to take for the world to un-fuck itself.

He'd whittled his choices down to three options: A) A second Big Bang, B) A big ass nuclear bomb, or C) An actual cure for the zombie apocalypse.

Despite the fact that Chris was a bit of an optimist at heart, he wasn't about to hold his breath for Option C to come to fruition. If there was a cure ('was' being the operative word in that sentence), he thought it would have been multiplied and distributed en masse long before 'epidemic' became the standard phrase. Option A required some intervention from God or whatever created the universe, which was, subsequently, help that was looking less forthcoming with every passing day. And since the world also seemed to be running a little short on human-staffed armies, he wasn't entirely sure Option B was going to cut it, either. For better or for worse, it was clear that if he wanted to survive, he was going to have to do it on his own.

Looking around, Pike decided that 'screwed' was a pretty accurate description of what his life had become.

But he wasn't ready to fold just yet. Making his own luck suited Chris just fine. Though he traded his combat boots and M-16 for a cushy House of Representatives seat and a non-regulation haircut a decade back, life as a politician was sometimes just as cutthroat as his former life in the service. The only real differences he noticed was that in the army, it was usually a fair fight - he saw the enemy coming first instead of being blindsided or stabbed in the back, as was the norm in Washington. That, and words only stung. Bullets killed.

Though there were quite a few things he disliked about his years in the military (oh-dark-thirty PT, _ALL_ of the chow), he was however, very thankful to the army. Most specifically, he was thankful for the lessons it felt necessary to impart upon him when he was a young man. Pike's advanced knowledge of hand to hand combat didn't do much for him in the halls of the US Capitol, but it sure was going to come in handy as he made his way out of a completely overrun, infested and batshit insane Washington, D.C.

Check that. _If_ he made his way out of D.C.

If Chris thought he looked out of place in his three piece suit and wingtip shoes, he didn't let it bother him. There were more important things that demanded his attention at the moment. Namely, like staying alive. Even though his skills were rusty, he at least had skills to begin with. Most of the people he ran into along his frantic trek to the Capitol building weren't as fortunate. And by 'not as fortunate', what Pike really meant was 'turned'.

But even he wasn't invincible, and he knew that. If not for his training, Chris might not have even made it past the Capitol steps. Running up the stairs and past a few small alcoves, Pike nearly forgot to turn around and check his rear before he proceeded deeper into the building. His old training officer's voice bounced through his head as he skidded to a halt, craning his head towards the darkened spaces.

Almost immediately, one very large, dark and rotting hand slammed down on his shoulder. The force knocked him clean off his feet and sent him tumbling back down the stairs he'd just run up. Winded by the impact of his ribs against the floor, Pike rolled away from the advancing threat. He scrambled backwards, scanning his surroundings for anything that he could use as a weapon. Chris' hand ghosted across the fabric of the American flag, once proudly displayed at the entrance, now torn and ragged. His hands closed around the brass pole and in one solid motion, Pike picked up the flag and thrust it with all his strength at the advancing zombie. The sickening crunch of bone and cartilage rang in his ears as he shoved the pointed end of the eagle straight through the former security officer's nasal cavity. Direct hit to the brain - instant death. Or, instant death again. Or...whatever.

Pike: 1; zombie: 0.

Chris scrambled off the capitol's regal marble floors and ran towards the congressional wing. Dodging frantic people as he passed, he finally reached his office. Slamming the door shut and locking it securely behind him, Pike leaned on his desk and stabbed the 'speaker' button on the phone on his desk. He sent a silent prayer for a dial tone and just about jumped for joy when he heard the plain note ring. His fingers danced over the number pad, punching in digits he'd been calling for every reason under the sun for the past seven years.

Amidst all the uncertainty of his new world, Pike was _sure_ his loyal Chief of Staff Sam Kirk wouldn't have a goddamned clue how to deal with a zombie apocalypse. Navigating the shark-infested waters of Washington? No problem. But zombies? Who the hell thought of a contingency plan for brain-craving, flesh eating people?

Chris hoped Sam had enough sense to run while he still could. But before he could ponder any further, Sam's frantic voice streamed through the speakers. '_Chris, Jesus Christ! That better be you!_'

"Yeah, it's me."

'_What's going on there? Jim and I are watching all this coverage on the news. Crazy talk, man_,' Sam said, letting out a very long breath.

"I don't think you'd believe me if I told you," Pike began, cringing as he heard the telltale pop-pop-pop of gunfire as it echoed down the hall from a distant part of the historic building. Settling into his chair for the last time, Chris ran a dirty hand through his hair. He lifted the framed photo of him and his staff at his last inauguration, sighing as he tossed it back on his desk. In the sternest voice his could muster, "Look, Sam, I need you do something for me."

'_Name it_.'

"I need you to close up the office. Send everyone home. Tell them to prepare for the worst. The things that are going on here are just-there isn't any way to describe it. I'm on my way back, but in case I don't make it-"

"_Yes you will_," Kirk interjected smoothly but firmly as he'd done countless times in the past.

"In case I don't make it," Pike reiterated, cursing the slight warble he heard in his own voice, "I need you to try and do what you can. Don't be a hero, but help if you're in the position to do so. And look after that family of yours for me, okay?"

Silence rang on the other end of the phone line. For a moment, Chris thought the line had gone dead. "Sam?"

'_Yeah, I'm here. I'll do it. But you have to promise me that you'll do everything you can to make it back could use some of those Ranger survival courses I know are still rolling around in that old head of yours_,' Kirk finished lamely as he tried to inject a little bit of humor into a bleak situation.

"You know I will. You promised me a meeting with your little brother, and there's not a chance in hell I'm turning that down. If the kid is even half of the pain in the ass as you are, I think I'm going to like him," Chris replied, his tone surprisingly light and carefree.

'_My mom says I learned it from him, not the other way around_.'

"Oh, that I highly doubt." Pike let out a little laugh before he took a deep, shaky breath. Sobering, he instructed, "Sam, take care of that family of yours for now, and I'll meet up with you when I can. I trust you. Just do what you do."

'_Roger that_.'

Pike stabbed the button to end the call, letting his finger linger on the device longer than necessary. Making a phone call - it felt so normal. But as he spun around in his chair to face the window, nothing that met his eyes even came close to the Webster's definition of 'normal'.

The walking dead.

Good motherfucking god.

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**Next Up**: Chris meets up with his chief of staff and is forced to make a choice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes**: So, this chapter is definitely a new experience for me because the content is really out of my comfort zone. (They tell me that's what I'm supposed to do as a writer – push my own limits. Sometimes I think they're full of shit, if I'm honest.) Since it's so far out of my strike zone, I'm also hoping that Pike's reactions are in character. I feel like they are, but his voice and such weren't coming as naturally to me in this story as they do in the cop or canon verses. But I've come to the conclusion that nit-picking it any farther isn't going to make it better. So I'm just going to bite the bullet and post it and see what you all think. As always, comments (even if it's to tell me I suck) are welcomed. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer**: Not mine. No money made. Please don't sue me.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

The first thing he noticed was how eerily silent it was.

Pike's California office was never quiet. As Washington's self-anointed antithesis to the typical career politician, Chris' home state headquarters was part arcade, part zoo, part working office. In that order. All of his staff had grown so accustomed to the stacks of legal volumes placed on the very proper bookshelf that was right next to the very improper air hockey table and the even more improper pinball machine (both purchased by Pike from his personal funds, of course) that they often forgot how stiff and uptight other offices were. It wasn't as if they didn't get the work done; Chris and his staff just had another way of doing it. As he'd reminded his peers over the years, plenty of good ideas came from the post lunch dart tournament. There was nothing that bonded people more than a little friendly competition, or so Chris often preached.

'_Memories of a different time_,' Pike thought as he stepped over a pile of broken glass, nudging his way around the sad remains of his favorite pinball machine. The office - his office - the thing he'd worked so hard to build and expand and how he judged his success in life - was completely demolished. It looked as if a tornado had torn through the inside of the building. Furniture broken, walls full of holes or entirely missing, doors off their hinges, windows smashed. Chris shuddered to think what kind of events went on inside the building for it to look so utterly devastated.

About to pass, a flash of light caught his attention from under the pile of rubble. He narrowed his eyes, knelt down and pushed back the destroyed lighting panel. Pike sucked in a breath and nearly jumped backwards when the board slid away. Propped up against the wall, the twisted, bloated body of his office admin lay in a messy heap on the floor. There were telltale signs of decomposition; Maggie's platinum blonde hair clashed against the sickly green pallor of her skin, which only served to accentuate the fact that half her face was missing. Dark red blood dripped down her arm and shoulder, coagulating in a formidable puddle near her right side. Strange; he knew there should be a heavy stench of decomposition roaming the air, but none choked his olfactory sensors. Perhaps there was something wrong with his nose, or Pike was getting used to it.

He chalked it up to one more thing irrevocably changed by his new world. Pike wasn't sure if it was for better or indeed for worse.

Chris shook his head, pushing the somewhat extraneous thoughts to the back corner of his mind. He reached out a tentative hand to touch her, but he snapped it back just as quickly. A quick traverse through Appalachia taught him that while people might _look_ dead, they might not actually _be_ dead. Pike unholstered the 9mm Springfield XDM he'd scavenged off a dead cop and extended his arm. He scoffed internally; it wasn't like he was going to shoot anyone with it since he ran out of ammo well before he crossed the Mississippi, but it did make a great extension of his body. He used the barrel and poked Maggie's shoulder, exhaling a sigh of relief when she didn't move. Pike pursed his lips and reached for the board. Replacing it gently over her still form, he dropped his head and let out a low, frustrated growl.

She was the fifth staffer he'd encountered since he bulldozed his way back into his office.

Every single one of them were dead.

Chris counted his blessings that none of them attempted to eat him. It was a small favor, but a favor none the less.

Working his way past the reception area, Pike stopped short when he heard a long scrape echo faintly from behind the closed conference room doors. His feet moved seemingly of their own volition as they carried him across the room. With his back pressed against the wall, Chris soundlessly snagged the sharpened broom handle from amidst a the rubble scattered about the floor. Using the toe of his boot (stolen from a sporting good store - at least those hadn't come off a dead person), he slowly pushed at the kick plate.

The door swung open, and poking his head around the corner, Pike took a deep breath and looked surveyed the room. Chris thought he'd open the door to find a horde of zombies waiting for him or a group of frantic survivors; both groups would have been equally deadly. But in reality, he found neither. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of a single, rigid figure standing the middle of the room. With his back to the door, it was impossible for Pike to discern if the man was human or a zombie. But given the fact he didn't even acknowledge Chris' entrance, the chances weren't looking good for contact of the human variety.

Pike's fingers flexed instinctively against the wooden handle as he crept quietly towards the man's back. As he was in the motion of raising the weapon for a strike, his metal belt buckle picked the most inopportune time to refract the sun cascading into the room. The glint of light grabbed the man's attention as it blossomed out, bouncing off a section of drywall in a kaleidoscope pattern of white. Blue eyes widening in the reflection off the window pane, the man ducked the strike and rolled away to safety.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! What are you doing, man?" the blond screeched, extending his hands as he clamored to his knees.

Chris felt a momentary spike of panic which was replaced instantly by relief as recognition set in. "Sam?" he breathed out, allowing the broom handle to slip from his suddenly numb fingers.

"Yeah - Chris, oh thank god!" the younger man exclaimed, leaping to his feet before he reached out to embrace his boss.

"Yeah, it's me," Pike replied as he pulled his chief of staff into a manly hug, giving him a couple of slaps on the back for good measure. Chris finally released Kirk from his grip and stepped back to observe. Far from his normal squared away, not a hair out of place chief of staff, Sam was dirty and bloody; the man's clothes were shredded and stained and his hair was askew and mixed with sweat and grime. He had a solid week's worth of beard, the dark hair on his face only accentuating the pallor of his skin, the puffy red eyes and nearly black circles hovering under his eyes.

Pike looked down at his own clothes. He was sweaty and in desperate need of a shower, but his state of hygiene was nowhere near as bad as Kirk's. And he was _really_ sure he didn't look like he got in a fight with Mike Tyson and lost. A wave of worry washed over him, because from all accounts, the worst of the infection was moving from East to West, not the other way around. Something wasn't right and it was starting to sound warning alarms in Chris' head. He inched closer, but maintained an arm's length distance. "You look like you've been through it," he rumbled lowly to Kirk.

"Yeah," Sam answered, nearly deflating in on himself as the adrenaline rush faded. "Glad you made it."

Pike gave the younger man a critical once over, noting the instantaneous appearance of the thousand yard stare from eyes that wouldn't meet his own. He cocked his head to the side and reached out one hand to steady Sam as he wavered in place. "It was touch and go there for a while. Thought I'd seen the worst of it." Pausing, Chris looked around the demolished room and then back to Kirk's shell-shocked form. "But from the looks of all this, it's pretty clear to me that it hasn't been sunshine and rainbows here, either."

"You could say that," was Kirk's cryptic response.

"Wanna tell me what happened?" Pike gently probed.

"It's a long story."

Chris snorted. "I'm not going anywhere."

He started to lower himself into the sturdiest looking remaining chair when a twitch of movement on the table behind the open door grabbed Chris' attention. Vaulting back to his feet, Pike took a quick half-step towards the corner of the room only to be stopped by Kirk's hand. The former congressman looked down at the fingers gently restraining his chest and then, like an elevator ascending to the top floor, met his chief of staff's stare. Very quietly, he asked, "Sam, what's going on? Where's Aurelan?"

"She's gone," he replied.

"Gone?" Pike questioned as his stomach began to turn. "Gone how? What do you mean?"

Without a word, Sam sighed deeply, rubbed hand over his face and stepped aside to give Chris a clear view of the table's contents.

Pike swallowed hard a couple of times, trying to dispel the lump that vaulted into this throat. He sucked in a deep, slow breath as he angled his head around Sam's shoulder to see what his chief of staff's body was hiding. "Peter," he breathed. Looking back up towards the boy's father, Pike asked sharply, "What the hell happened here?"

"When you called, I did what you ordered. Closed up the office and sent everyone home to their families. But the infection was quicker than we thought. It started right about the time you called to warn me. We decided it would be best to regroup here since we had everything we needed to make a stand until you could get back and lead the charge. Aurelan was helping me round everyone up. We were the last ones to make it back here. She tried to get to me and she almost made it. Got within a couple of blocks before she got caught. She knew it was bad, so she gave Peter the gun and then gave him a head start."

"A head start?"

"You know what I mean. She provided a...distraction," Kirk said quietly.

"She's dead," Chris concluded matter of factly.

"Yeah. I think I'll hear that scream until the day I die."

Pike closed his eyes. He'd seen enough to know how zombies fed on their prey. It was brutal and ugly and incredibly violent. "But what about your son? He's okay, right?"

"For now, yeah."

Chris felt his heart rate spike as he listened to Sam's narrative. The boy laid out on the conference room table was pale, sweaty and struggling to pull in each shaky breath. Pike cocked his head to the side and reached out one gentle, fatherly hand. He smoothed back Peter's matted hair, cringing as he felt the heat radiating off the boy in waves. He forced his eyes up, meeting Sam's blank stare. "Is he..." Pike began, unable to actually finish the question.

Kirk opened his mouth to say something, but snapped it closed when no words were forthcoming. Instead, he pulled down the blanket that was covering Peter's slight body and pointed to a mark near the child's right shoulder. "It's been almost a half a day since it happened. It won't be long now, I don't think."

"No," Chris breathed out, his hands suddenly shaking with rage and denial. "Goddammit!" he exclaimed even louder. He wanted to punch something, put his fist through what remained of his office. This shouldn't be happening - not to Sam, not to Aurelan, not to anyone. But knee jerk reactions would get him nowhere and earn him nothing but broken bones for his troubles. So Pike took a deep breath and flexed his fists open and closed until the curtain of red behind eyes faded away. He walked over to Kirk and laid a gentle, fatherly hand on his chief of staff's shoulder. Compassionate but firm, he said, "Tell me what happened, son."

Sam's head fell to his chest. "I wasn't quick enough. I let myself listen for a half second to my wife. Peter was running towards me. He was so close. I reached out to grab him, but he got snagged by one on the ground. I shot it, but not before he bit my son's shoulder. I brought him here because I didn't know what else to do. I hoped - I thought maybe we'd get lucky with...something. I don't know. A miracle."

It was a strange sensation. Equal parts confusion and helplessness, the thoughts rolling around Pike's brain created a ball of dissonance that planted itself firmly in his gut. Licking his dry lips, Chris said the only thing that came to his mind. "Tell me what you need."

Kirk's chest heaved up and down silently while he fisted his hands through his hair. He paced about the room like a caged animal ready to fight or flee. "What do I need? I need for my life to go back to the way it was before all this shit. I need my old life back, where I had a wife who was very much alive and a son who isn't dying. Barring that, I need a miracle. Do you happen to have any of those lying around?"

"Sorry. Fresh out," Chris replied with a dramatic sweep of his hand.

He shook his head and gripped the table so hard his knuckles went white under his skin. Rubbing his hand over his face, Sam exhaled hard and said, "I'm sorry, Chris. You don't deserve that. Target of convenience, I guess."

"Better me than the zombies," Pike snorted in return, allowing the room to fall into companionable silence. After working with Sam for so many years, he had a pretty good idea of what was going through the younger man's head. Most of it centered around relief mixed with panic and laced with a healthy dose of fear. Pike thought he could do one of two things: he could feed Sam a bunch of lines, or he could be honest.

Further proving he wasn't a typical Washington pundit, Chris never considered himself to be a very efficient liar.

Truth it was. Chris shifted his eyes over to Kirk and added, "You know I don't bullshit and I don't take things personally."

"Yeah, that's why I've stuck with you for so long. Despite what everyone says about you, you _can_ be an asshole when you're pissed."

Pike let out a little snort at his long time assistant's blunt but on point observation. Shifting his weight to his left foot, he said, "I wish I was the answer you were looking for. But I'm not. I'm just another guy, doing the best he can in the moment. _Just like you, Sam_."

"For all the good it's done me," Sam added as the fight seeped from his tired body. He sank down to the floor, back against the (mostly intact) chunk of wall near the door. Kirk titled his head back and let it fall to the drywall, landing with a dull 'thunk'. He closed his eyes, Adam's apple bobbing up and down a couple of times as he swallowed harshly. "Actually, you do have one thing I would like."

"Name it."

"I need your advice, Chris," he said without preamble.

"Of course," Pike replied.

Opening his eyes, Sam searched for Chris' stare and held it as he asked simply, "What should I do?"

Pike was confused; he wasn't sure what Kirk meant by his statement. But as he followed Sam's line eyes as it drifted towards his son, the question became indelibly clearer. Exhaling hard, Chris dropped his head to his hands and rubbed his eyes hard. "I don't know," he admitted breathlessly.

"That's what I was afraid of," Kirk replied mirthlessly. He hauled himself to his feet and joined Pike at the side of the conference room table. Sam adjusted the blanket over his son's trembling body and dabbed at the child's sweat soaked forehead with a piece of torn cloth. He turned his back on Chris, reached into his pocket and extracted something. Hefting the object in his hands, Sam spun around to face Pike. "I've had this now for a while. It's got one round left in it. I'm wondering if now would be a good time to use it."

"Sam," Pike warned lowly, edging his way towards his chief of staff, and closer to the gun Sam held loosely in his right hand. Gun safety was not even in Kirk's conscious stream of thought; Sam's finger was on the trigger while he pointed the weapon at his left shoulder, inspecting it as if it were some shiny new toy. "Let's talk about this, okay?"

"I don't think there's anything left to talk about. I don't want my son turning into one of those things. There's no dignity in that. He deserves better."

Pike let out a marginal sigh of relief when he realized that Kirk wasn't planning on using the gun on himself. But as realization struck, Chris felt his stomach do yet another painful flip-flop in the middle of his chest. "I can't let you do that, Mr. Kirk."

Pike's uncharacteristic deployment of formality caught his attention. Kirk stopped inspecting the silver .380 long enough to glare at his mentor and friend. "Why not? It's that or I get to watch my son-" Sam said, trailing off as the words died in his throat.

"No, that's not what I meant," Chris said, stepping forward and removing the gun from Sam's pliable fingers all in one swift motion. He held the other man's wrist in his right hand and forced him to meet his gaze. In as steady a voice as he could muster, Chris looked Sam squarely in the eye and clarified, "I meant that, as Peter's remaining parent, you're not going to be the one that lives with that."

"What are you suggesting?"

Chris forced down the fresh wave of nausea building in his throat as he looked towards the partially prostrate child on the conference room table. He pursed his lips into a thin, hard line and replied with a lot more confidence than he felt, "I'll do it."

"You're going to live with this?"

Chris dipped his chin. "Better me than you."

Kirk nodded his head, tears welling at the corners of his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but clamped his jaw closed when his chin started to tremble. Sam sucked in a couple of deep breaths through his nose, composed himself and cleared his throat. Kirk's gaze wandered from the gun in Pike's hands to his deathly still child. Voice thick with emotion, he asked simply, "Why are you doing this, Chris?"

Pike sighed and let his gaze travel up the ceiling. "Karma, I guess, if such a thing still exists in this world. I suppose I hope that someone would do the same for me if it came to that."

"You won't let it go that far. I know you."

"I hate to break it to you, Kirk. It doesn't take much. One mistake, one moment of complacency and that's all she wrote. "

"Like my wife. Like my son," Sam said with a sad smile, fiddling with the blankets covering Peter.

"Yeah, like your family," Chris replied in an almost inaudible whisper. He cleared his throat and quietly moved towards the door. "I'm going to wait outside. Take your time and let me know when you're ready," he added, exiting without waiting for Sam's response.

Clear of the conference room, Pike leaned his shoulders up against the crumbling drywall and stared up at the ceiling. The sad, pockmarked tiles blurred as the tears pooling at the corner of his eyes threatened to spill over. He swore internally. What the hell was he doing and - more importantly - who the hell was he fooling? '_No one. This is crazy_,' Pike mentally acknowledged. It was true - he wasn't trained for this kind of shit. Chris learned how to fight and kill enemies of all types, but was he _really_ ready to shoot a child?

Even as an act of mercy, he wasn't entirely certain the answer to that question was 'yes'.

But he was shit out of other options, and he knew it. Even after all he'd been through, both in his past and now, the prospect was nearly overwhelming. Running on adrenaline alone, Pike's shaking legs finally gave out. He fell gracelessly to the ground and landed with a light 'thud' on his ass. The stainless steel frame of the Sig Sauer .380 felt cold against his palm, his fingers numb and clumsy. Making a concerted effort to remove his index finger from the vicinity of the trigger, Pike carefully laid the gun on the floor next to him as he dropped his head to his knees. He let a couple of silent tears fall, watching as they hit the carpet and disappeared into the thick, high-traffic weave.

Chris let his thoughts wander to the man in the conference room. He had no idea what Sam saw in him; Pike was an average middle aged career-driven man, but even with the fancy title and the someone conspicuous background, he wasn't anything special. Something he did, something he said, had earned him Sam Kirk's loyalty and for that, he would be grateful for the rest of his life. And along the way, as he molded Kirk from a fresh-faced, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed college grad into the best staffer he could have ever asked for, Sam Kirk became his family. He became the son he never had but always dreamed about and he filled a gap in Pike's personal life that Chris didn't know was there.

Chris cared for Sam Kirk - loved him - like his own son.

And because of that, Pike felt like he was going to throw up.

But it would do Sam no good if the man he looked to for answers for everything in life - from women to the best booze to how to deal with a zombie apocalypse - fell apart before he could be useful. So Chris wiped his eyes and literally ordered his stomach not to expel its contents on to the floor before he straightened his posture. The glint off the Sig caught his attention. Pike reached out, ejected the magazine and cleared the slide, ensuring that there really was only one bullet left. He chambered the round, racked the slide and shoved it in the waistband of his pants. Climbing to his feet, Pike was in the middle of stretching his shoulders when Sam exited the conference room.

Chris stopped in his tracks. An unintended glimmer of trepidation flashed momentarily across his handsome features before he corralled it, locking it away with his own personal fears. He swallowed hard and asked simply, "Is it time?"

Unable to speak past the giant softball lodged in his throat, Kirk simply nodded.

Pike laid his hand on Sam's shoulder as he passed. He stopped, squeezed Kirk hard enough to feel his collarbone and whispered in his ear, "This is the right thing, Sam. He won't suffer any more. I promise you. I'll make it count."

"Yeah," Kirk choked out.

"Do you want to be in the room?"

Sam turned his red rimmed, puffy and bloodshot eyes towards his mentor. In a tiny voice, he admitted, "I don't know if I can. God, I'm such a coward."

"No," Pike began firmly. "You're a parent. A good one at that. Never forget that."

"I'll work on that."

"Okay," Pike said, more for the benefit of himself than Kirk. "Okay."

Stepping through the door, Chris took a deep breath. On unsteady legs, he walked towards Peter. Though Pike gave up religion years ago, he cursed God and any other deities who happened to be listening with each step to the seventh circle of hell for allowing this mess to take a child's life. Chris stopped in front of the table and reached out, laying one large hand over Peter's forehead. The boy was completely and utterly still, such a contrast to the vibrant child that had gleefully raced RC cars down the hallway of the office and who enjoyed playing hide and seek with anyone willing to entertain him. There was no smile, there was no laughing. There was only...nothing.

Chris pulled Peter's slender wrist from under the covers, checking for a pulse as he'd been taught in basic training. At first, he felt nothing but then after he held his own breath, he felt the tick of an unsteady, erratic and deathly slow pulse under his fingertips. Chris reached out and laid his left hand on Peter's chest, waiting for the intake and exhale of Kirk's chest to move his hand. He stood stock still for what seemed like an eternity but was rewarded by nothing but stillness. Chris sighed, bit the inside of his mouth hard enough to draw blood, and folded the boy's hands neatly over his chest. It was the only thing he could think do; at least there would be a little dignity in death, not there was much of that to be found of late.

Shaking his hands out, Pike pulled the small Sig from the waistband of his pants. He gripped the pistol as he'd been taught, cursing the slight tremor he could feel in his left hand. He flexed his fingers, steadied the gun and took careful aim at Peter's left temple. Looking up towards the ceiling, Chris whispered, "God, forgive me for this."

And pulled the trigger.

The sound felt like a hard punch to the solar plexus. For a moment, Chris couldn't move. He couldn't breath, he couldn't speak, he couldn't even blink. Blood rushed through his body at warp speed, muffling out every other sound. His heart felt like it was about to explode if he took one more goddamned breath. His diaphragm was now perfectly at home in his throat, and his vision was greying out at the edges.

The gun fell from his numb fingers and bounced off the carpet, spinning uselessly across the floor. Pike staggered towards the corner of the room and retched, throwing up nothing but water. He remembered the feeling of gnawing hunger coupled with fear, so present as he walked into his old office. Now food seemed like the least appetizing thing on the face of the earth. Or what remained of earth.

Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, Pike reigned in control of his runaway emotions and forced his feet to take him towards Peter. He brushed a couple of pieces of hair to the side as he smiled sadly. From his angle, it looked as if the boy was simply sleeping; the evidence of Pike's actions was only visible from the left side. Chris ran his hand over Peter's face one last time, reached for the blanket, and drew it over Kirk's still form.

Chris exited the room and searched the hallway for Sam. The whole building was completely silent. Pike cursed, wondering if Sam split while he was doing the deed. He stuck his head in every single office, working his way from the proverbial bow of the office to the stern. Chris was just about to give into the panic welling in his chest when a flicker of movement caught his eye. He pushed open the door to his office and slowly approached the figure huddled on the floor.

With his back to the door, Kirk couldn't see who was standing behind him. But he knew, just like he always did, when his boss was in the vicinity. Sam stared blankly out at the area where Pike's oversized bay window used to be. After a couple long beats, he finally said, "I always liked your office, Chris. It's so bright."

Pike looked past the shattered window and to the street three levels below. Outside, birds chirped. He could hear the wind floating among the grass, and he could smell the salty sweetness of the beach and the ocean not too far away. Chris closed his eyes as he thought of all the things that used to seem so normal, so mundane that now existed only in his dreams. "I did, too." He stopped a couple of feet in front of Sam. Motioning with his hand, Pike asked, "Permission to sit?"

Kirk's head bobbed up and down once as he scooted over to make some room. "Granted."

"Sam, I know there's nothing I can say that will make this right," Pike began, breaking the silence after a couple of long minutes, "but if there's anything I can do, just name it."

Sam licked his dry lips, tension pulling at the corners of his eyes. "I think I just need to make my peace with it. Easier said than done," Kirk replied, shaking his head ruefully as he plucked away at a bare spot on the carpet.

Pike nodded, clenching and unclenching his jaw as more emotions roiled just under the visible surface. "You know I'm always going to here for you, even if it's just to listen."

Kirk went silent and still as a stone. His gaze dipped down to his hand, spinning the gold wedding band on his left ring finger in nervous circles. "Chris, with all due respect, do me a favor and shut the fuck up. I don't know if I can handle your pity right now."

Taken aback for a half a breath, Chris closed his mouth and dropped his chin to his chest. He stole a glance over at his subordinate and suppressed a sigh. What his arrhythmic heart wanted so badly to do - to reach out to Sam and hug him, hell even give him a firm clap on the shoulder - wasn't what his brain deemed appropriate. Pike could see the barely restrained hold Kirk had over his emotions and he didn't want to be cause that unleashed the emotional tidal wave. Not after the day Kirk had been through. Not yet. It would have been too much too soon and Pike knew it.

Still, it was discomforting for him as a politician. Christopher Pike the politician was never at a loss for words. He always came prepared with the proper words or that _just_ right phrase or idea that would resonate with the masses. But this time, Chris Pike, simple guy and zombie apocalypse survivor, was at a loss. All he needed was the right words to resonate with a single person, and he couldn't even muster that.

Pike cleared his throat, placed his hands in his lap and replied simply, "Understood."

Some of the tension fled from Kirk's body. He pulled his knees to his chest and, without turning towards his boss, simply said, "Thanks."

He didn't have to say it. Chris knew it, and Sam knew Chris understood the clear double meaning behind that one simple word. 'Thanks' meant so much more than, 'Thank you for teaching me,' or, 'Thanks for doing what I couldn't with Peter,' or, 'Thanks for coming back for us when I know you didn't have to,' or, 'Thanks for knowing what I need or don't need in ever single moment of life.' This time, 'Thanks' meant '_Thank you for being a friend_.'

It wasn't much, but it was all he had left to offer. As the two men sat in silence, staring out a demolished window at an equally demolished world, Chris Pike realized that for the first time in his life, one simple word was enough.

It would do, for now.

* * *

**Next Up**: Sam makes a request. Pike can't refuse; though in retrospect, it might have been smarter to have walked away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes**: I am so sorry for the length of time it's taken me to post this (relatively short) story. It was supposed to end with chapter two, but as I was preparing it to post, I decided I didn't like how the story was going to end if I just left it at the end of chapter two. Plus, I needed to a little bit of work with some plot lead ins for Kindred, the next story in the series. The only way to do that was to add in a separate chapter. Plus, the last chapter was so dark, I thought it could use a little bit of lightness. This is that bit. In any case, I hope you've enjoyed the first little foray into the zombie!verse. If you feel compelled enough to comment, they are loved! Otherwise, here's the last chapter of Bulletproof. (No, really. I mean it this time. This is the last chapter!)

**Disclaimer**: Wish I owned 'em. If I did, Into Darkness...oooh, don't even get me started. *rage face*

* * *

**Chapter 3**

It didn't take Chris' college degree to know that Sam Kirk was in hot water with his wife.

It was the sleeping-on-the-couch-for-a-week, no-sex-for-a-month, silent-treatment-for-all-of-eternity kind of hot water.

And it was his fault.

Well, in fairness, it wasn't _all_ Chris' fault. As it was customary on Fridays, Pike always tried his damnedest to make sure everyone left by five, going so far as making sure all essential business was scheduled for the morning. But on that day, one crisis came up that had to be dealt with, then another, and another still. (_How_ some of the city workers still had jobs while lacking the simple ability to write down a reservation for a park was beyond him - no, stop Chris. Blasting the city's incompetence will only make more work for Kirk.) By the time everything was said and done, it was almost seven o'clock, the office was nearly deserted, and Sam was still chained to his desk.

Pike cringed when he heard Sam answer his cell phone. He couldn't make out Aurelan's words, but the clipped, apologetic tones coming from Kirk made it clear that she was not happy. Chris surreptitiously leaned back in his chair, angling his ear towards to door. When words like, 'I'm sorry,' and, 'stuck at work,' mixed in with, 'wedding anniversary,' Pike knew he had to act.

"Sam," Pike said, clearing his throat loudly as he rested his shoulder into the doorframe. He he tipped his head against the wood and licked his lips before he asked, "What are you still doing here?"

Kirk ran a tired hand through his hair, rubbed his eyes and stared blearily at the papers scattered about his desk. "Working. I think. Maybe. On something I probably can't find anymore because I don't even know what day it is."

Pike raised an eyebrow as he crossed his left foot over his right ankle. Motioning with his hand towards the mess that was cluttering up Sam's desk, he said succinctly, "I think it's about time to hang it up for the night, huh? Like you should have done hours ago."

"The work's not going to do itself, Chris," Sam said, never looking up from his computer screen.

"The work can wait. Desperate times call for desperate measures," Pike replied as he pushed off the doorframe. "A little bird tells me that Aurelan's a little angry right now. Anyone ever tell you, 'Happy wife, happy life'?"

Kirk snorted. "Yeah, you did. Twice. It's made even funnier when it comes from a man with a really impressive string of failed long and short term relationships."

Pike opened his mouth to retort and snapped it back closed. Dipping his chin, he let a small smile tug at the corners of his lips. "I'd call you out for being a smartassed little punk if that wasn't so true."

"Just calling 'em like I see 'em, boss." Kirk twiddled the pen around his right hand. "Still, it would be nice if I could get out of here. We had plans," he added with a scowl as he checked the time on his watch.

"Your anniversary."

Kirk looked genuinely shocked. "How did you know?"

It was Pike's turn to snort out loud. "Please. I'm a politician. I'm supposed to know everything about everyone at all times." At Sam's disapproving stare, Chris shook his head and held his hands up in the air. "Okay, so I lied. I overheard you on the phone. But I'll be honest with you, son - with how loud Aurelan was yelling at you, I'd have been deaf _not_ to haveheard it."

Kirk had the good grace to look contrite. "Sorry about that," he began sincerely. "I didn't mean for it to be that heated. You know I normally leave the yelling for you, but this was going to be our first night out by ourselves in a couple of months. With the election and all, we've both been too busy."

"Well, since you missed your anniversary plans on my account, I took the liberty of finding a solution," Chris said, reaching around the piles of paper on Kirk's desk before he plucked out a stack of Post-Its and a pen. He scribbled an address and a time on the yellow note and literally slapped it on to Sam's desktop. "Reservations for you two for a late dinner tonight. On me."

Kirk stared at the note as if Pike had written it in Russian. "Chris, I'm - thank you, but we can't. I mean, we don't even have a babysitter for Peter and-"

"If that's what's stopping you, I'll babysit," Pike interjected smoothly.

"I-what? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, it's what I do all day long here. How much harder can it be?" Chris replied with a passive shrug of his shoulders.

"You have a point," Kirk agreed with a lift of brows. Sam sat back in his chair and scrutinized his boss. "Are you sure about this? You don't have to do - any of it. Aurelan will get over it as soon as I can talk to her and tell her what happened."

Pike smiled, fished his cell phone out of his pocket and held it out towards Kirk. It was symbolic, but he hoped Sam got the point. "Call your wife. Tell her you're coming home and that your babysitter will be by in about a half hour. I just have to stop at home and grab a change of clothes."

Sam took one look at the small mountain of paperwork on his desk, then to Pike's note, and finally to Chris himself. He blinked once, going completely still for a split second before he rocketed out of his chair. Smiling broadly, he clapped Pike on the shoulder as he passed, grabbing his sport coat from the back of his chair and the Post-It from his desktop as he practically sprinted towards the building's exit. Pike heard Sam's excited voice on the phone with Aurelan as it wafted down the hallway. Whistling to himself, Chris wandered back to his own desk, collected his things, locked up for the night and left.

As he drove towards his home, Pike wondered how his life would have turned out if he'd devoted his passion and efforts towards a family with children rather the focusing solely on his career. Sure, his accomplishments garnered him praise and respect, the pages of the legislation he sponsored and co-wrote didn't keep him warm at night, nor did they offer comfort in the rare moments he needed it.

The dirty, ugly, often unacknowledged truth was that he wanted a family. Chris welcomed his staff's kids into his office and always treated them as if they were his own. He'd have been lying if it didn't hurt just a little bit every time someone told him what a natural he was with children, which was always followed by the inevitably awkward question of why he didn't have any of his own. Pike always clammed up and deflected the topic like a champ not because he didn't want to answer, but because he couldn't think of a good enough reason that didn't sound utterly pathetic.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized Sam may have been right about his unhealthy penchant for failed relationships. But, what Chris never bothered to add was that he was often the reasons those relationships failed. He'd always blame it on his hours, his career and the travel that often had him criss-crossing the country on a bi-weekly basis when yet another woman dumped him. But really, Pike's inability to cultivate a lasting partnership was simply because he had trouble trusting others, had trouble opening up in the most emotionally intimate of ways necessary.

He was a hell of a leader, a good listener to others, but he was shit with his own feelings.

Chris shook off the dark thoughts as he shrugged out of his dress shirt and slacks, pulling on a comfortable pair of jeans and a worn t-shirt. He added a black Fender sweatshirt over the top for good measure as an afterthought before he moved through his darkened kitchen. Plucking his leather jacket off the hook in the laundry room, Chris made his way out to the garage, shoving on his boots in the process. He pulled on the skid lid he kept dangling over the chrome handlebars of his bike, shimmied into his jacket and threw one leg over the V-Rod parked in the second stall. Pike turned the key and hit the starter on the sleek black machine, feeling the engine rumble to life beneath him. He gave the throttle a couple experimental twists as he backed slowly out into the driveway. Adding glasses for good measure, Pike closed the garage door and set off down the street.

Chris relished the brisk feeling of the wind whipping across his face and through his hair. Riding was one of his very few indulgences in life, one that he enjoyed immensely. It was a place where he could let his mind wander, free from the weight of all the responsibilities and problems he faced daily. He hoped Sam didn't think he'd been too forward, making dinner reservations and practically forcing him out the door. Yes, Chris did it because he felt badly about ruining his chief of staff's dinner date, but, Pike begrudgingly admitted while he waited for the light to change, he also did it because he didn't want Sam to end up like him. Not when he had the family, not when he still had the chance to enjoy everything on which Chris had missed out. Sam simply had too much to lose.

As the congressman turned onto the quiet street in the modest neighborhood Sam and Aurelan called home, Chris' thoughts shifted to a much lighter subject: what activities he and Peter could do while the adult Kirks were away.

Since he was a child trapped in a man's body, Chris decided with surety that a good first step was sugar. Lots of it. For Peter.

And probably for him, too. He couldn't let Peter have _all_ the fun.

Chris laughed to himself as he hopped off the bike and yanked off his helmet, cringing as he tried to tame his helmet hair back into some semblance of order. Sighing, he reached into the saddlebag and grabbed the vintage LA Kings hat, clearly signaling he'd given in to the futility of it all. Pike unzipped his jacket and walked up to the front door, knocking loudly.

The deadbolt slid back, and with a rush of cold air, the door opened to reveal Sam on the other side. "Right on time," he said, extended his hand to his boss.

"Sam? Is that the babysitter?" Aurelan called from the recesses of the house.

"Yeah!" he yelled back over his shoulder.

"Does she need instructions?" she asked.

The two men exchanged coy expressions. "No, we're good, dear. Just finish getting ready. I'll make sure to relay all the necessary information."

"Perfect! I'll be down in two minutes," she replied from, as Pike could tell as he stuck his head in the door, the upstairs bedroom.

Chris bit down a laugh as he toed off his boots on the mat outside the door. "I take it you didn't tell her who was watching Peter tonight?"

"Nope," Sam replied with a smirk. "I figured I'd have a better chance of getting her to go if I didn't tell her my boss volunteered for kid duty."

"I hope she doesn't object to me," Pike said, suddenly contrite as he looked down at his feet.

Sam easily read the trepidation crossing his boss' face. "Nah, it's not that. Ten bucks says she'll be more mortified than anything else. She just thinks you're my boss. She sure as hell doesn't know you like I do."

"Thank God," Pike snorted as he followed Sam into the kitchen.

"Sam!" Aurelan said as she hustled down the stairs, "I put the emergency numbers on the whiteboard on the refrigerator-oh! Hello, Chris."

Pike smiled and nodded, pulling the woman into a quick hug. "How are you, Aurelan?"

"I'm good. What are you doing here?" she asked as she looked around. "Sam, I thought you said the babysitter was here."

"He is," Pike replied with a light laugh.

Aurelan's jaw went slack before her eyes widened. Her head whipped to Sam and then to his boss, her expression alternating between irritation and embarrassment as she switched back and forth. "You-oh, no. Chris, I'm so sorry. We didn't mean to put you out like this. I don't know what Sam was thinking. I mean, I'm sure you have plans and it's Friday and-"

Pike stopped her with a wave of his left hand. "He didn't ask. I volunteered. Least I could do when it was my fault he missed your anniversary dinner tonight. After the past few months, he deserves the break. My thanks to you."

Next to his wife, Sam was barely suppressing laughter. "See?" he asked his boss cheekily. "Told you."

Pike grimaced, reached for his wallet and pulled out a ten dollar bill. He slapped it into his chief of staff's outstretched hand and simply shook his head. Turning to Aurelan, he asked, "So what do I need to know?"

"Well," she began, "Peter doesn't have any allergies to speak of..."

Chris felt something jab him in the shoulder. That was odd - he swore he took off his jacket when he came into Sam's house. With a grimace, Pike brushed at the irritation with one hand while he tried to concentrate on Aurelan's narrative, but his head suddenly felt fuzzy and heavy as it did on the rare occasions he was sick. The smell was all wrong; Chris always loved Aurelan's perfume - Stella McCartney, if his memory served, but the smell wafting from her was not the sweet, floral scent. It was stale, sweat mixed with blood. Pike opened his mouth to say something, but he found that his mouth was suddenly as dry as the Sahara and that his larynx wouldn't respond to his brain's command.

He shook his head and wiped a hand over his face. But when he looked up, the images of Sam's house were gone. In its place was nothing but the cracked, white walls of his decimated office.

"Chris!" a voice above his head called. "Chris! Chris, wake up!"

Pike blinked rapidly a couple of times, an action that took more force than ought to have been required for such a menial task. "What?" he asked sleepily, batting away the hand that was poking him in the shoulder.

"Are you all right? You were talking in your sleep."

Sam's clear blue eyes wafted into view. His clothes weren't clean anymore; instead they were dirty and bloody. And why was he at the office? He was supposed to be babysitting Peter-

Oh. Right.

Peter.

The zombies. The bite. The absolute, utter insanity.

_Peter._

Chris scrubbed a shaking hand over his face as the onslaught of reality hit him like a slug to his gut. He wasn't at the Kirk's house, the world as he knew it was gone, Aurelan was dead, Peter was dead. He rubbed at a sore spot on his neck and exhaled a long breath, using the time to cover his surprise at the fact Kirk hadn't simply left him. "Yeah, I'm good, Sam. Guess I nodded off a little bit."

Despite the roller coaster of emotions of the day, Sam still managed to look genuinely concerned. "You look beat."

"Getting back here was harder than I thought. I guess I'm not as young as I used to be," he admitted with a self-deprecating shrug of his shoulders. Heaving himself off the floor, Pike winced when his back popped loudly. He stretched, but stopped when he felt Kirk's eyes on his back. Turning, Pike dropped his arms and asked, "What's up, Sam?"

Kirk fiddled with the loose hem on his shirt. "I was wondering if that offer still stands," he asked quietly after a beat.

"Which?"

"The help part."

Chris dipped his chin and stepped forward. "Of course it does. What do you need? Whatever it is, name it."

"Would you help me find my little brother?" Kirk asked, practically forcing the words out as if it physically hurt to ask for the help.

"Jim, right? I was looking forward to meeting him. What happened?"

"Yeah, Jim. He took off for Iowa when you called me from D.C. Wanted to try and find our mom back home."

"Have you heard from him?"

Sam shook his head left and right. "No, but I don't expect to. I'm not sure how, since all the phone lines were shot to hell and if anyone has power, it's from a generator."

Chris stole a glance at his staffer, noting Sam's eyes growing clearer and his demeanor less defeated. '_Maybe there is hope_,' he thought to himself before he asked audibly, "Do you have any idea where he is?"

Kirk shook his head and shrugged. "Not a clue. But Jim's a resourceful kid. I'm sure he's doing all right."

"He had a good teacher."

Sam snorted loudly and rolled his eyes. "If he's fine, it's only because he's a royal pain in the ass, actually. Too smart for his own good, too dumb to care and too stubborn to ever give up. But he's my kid brother and I love him dearly even if I want to kill him sometimes."

Pike let out a real, honest-to-goodness laugh. The sound bubbled from deep within his diaphragm, meandering up to the surface like lava from an old volcano. "Welcome to my life. Now you know how I feel about you." Pike sobered. "I hope I get to meet him."

"Yeah, me too. I think you two would get along great. He's a lot like you, you know."

"Now that is a truly frightening prospect."

"Chris? You were serious about what you said, right? That you would help me find Jim?"

"Of course I was. You know that," Pike answered with a slightly incredulous expression on his face.

"Good. Then I think maybe we should get going," Sam said, pushing off the floor. His eyes flicked towards the conference room before his gaze returned to Pike's face. "Because there's nothing left here for me anymore."

Chris nodded, accepting the hand Sam offered. As he hauled himself to his feet, Pike studied Kirk. "Sam?" he began, holding on to the other man's hand as he tried to pull away. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Well, maybe not good, but I will be." Motioning with his head, Sam's expression shifted to strictly business as he told Chris, "I had some supplies packed away in the server room. We're probably going to need them."

Pike followed Kirk down the hallway while studiously trying to ignore the growing knot of dread festering in his gut. One minute Sam is all but falling apart, the next moment he's numb and a millisecond after that, he seemed fine. Nothing was right and nothing was adding up. '_Son of a bitch..._,' he thought to himself as a million and one thoughts and theories swirled through his mind.

What the hell was going on?

"So tell me more about Jim, Sam."

"Well, he's a pain in the ass, kind of like someone else in this room I know."

"Isn't that the truth?" Pike snorted out in reply.

Wasn't the that truth?

Chris closed his eyes.

He wasn't sure there was any truth left to the world anymore.

**-FIN-**


End file.
